


Spider-Man & The Punisher: He Broke In

by d0d0bird



Series: Marvel: Tales to Tantalize! [27]
Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcoholic Jessica Jones, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Karen Page, BAMF Frank Castle, BAMF Jessica Jones, BAMF Peter Parker, Beating, Big Sister Jessica Jones, Bisexual Frank Castle, Bondage, Boys In Love, Chair Bondage, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Boyfriends, Electrocution, Electrotorture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficro, Frank Also Kind of Adopts Peter, Gags, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Humor, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Its Not a Literal Adoption But Still, Jessica Jones Adopts Peter Parker, Listen Peter's Very Adoptable, M/M, Messy, Murder Dad Frank Castle, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Only bad guys die, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Peter Parker is a Damsel in Distress, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Karen Page, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Frank Castle, Protective Jessica Jones, References to Columbo (TV series), Rope Bondage, Sassy David Lieberman, Shame, Situational Humiliation, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Frank Castle/David "Micro" Lieberman, Terminally Repressed Frank Castle, Verbal Humiliation, and they were ROOMMATES, bound and gagged, cloth gag, gagged, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0d0bird/pseuds/d0d0bird
Summary: “I’ll make this real simple for you, wall-crawler,” continued the Punisher, lowering his voice and leaning in close to Peter, “I need to know who you are, how you found me, and who else knows. Is that clear?”Peter wouldn’t comply. He knew these sorts of interrogation tactics. The Punisher wanted to make it seem like Peter had a way out of this, like if he went along with whatever he wanted everything would be okay. Peter knew better. Peter knew that someone like this would never let him go.“Is that clear!?” demanded Frank, pulling back harder on Peter’s hair and grabbing Peter's jaw.Peter glared defiantly at the Punisher, determined not to show weakness or pain. The stern, angry man stared back as he squeezed Peter’s jaw. It was a strong grip. If he wasn’t a superhuman, he was at least as strong as any normal person Peter had met. Even if Peter had been at his full strength, taking on this monster wouldn’t be easy. Frustrated, the Punisher let out a grunt and let go, pushing Peter’s head painfully to the side as he did so.
Relationships: Frank Castle & Peter Parker, Frank Castle/David "Micro" Lieberman
Series: Marvel: Tales to Tantalize! [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1507763
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	Spider-Man & The Punisher: He Broke In

Fisk looked over his notes. Without him controlling the crime organizations on the outside, power was constantly shifting from one organization to the other. The Harlem Syndicate had gained power shortly after Fisk’s incarceration. That was convenient for Fisk, because they were already loyal to him and acting in his best interest. That is, until the Heroes for Hire interfered and ruined that operation.

Next, the Carbones began to amass power in northern Manhattan while the Irish and the Dogs of Hell ran most of the island south of that. None of them had any love for Fisk, so their operations were greatly interfering with his own. He would have to retake control of gangs he had used in the other boroughs. Then of course there was the Bratva to consider.

Fisk was sitting at his desk in his private, minimum-security cell. Following his apprehension at the hands of Spider-Man and Jessica Jones, he had been incarcerated, but his lawyers and political favors got him placed in an extremely lax prison. His cell was more of a bedroom, with painted walls instead of bars or a gate. 

“Is there a problem, James?” asked Fisk calmly.

James Wesley had been looking at his phone for several minutes now. That was unlike him. Wesley was both Fisk’s personal lawyer and direct overseer of key operations. Normally while Fisk was conducting business, Wesley gave him his undivided attention.

“Possibly,” said Wesley, “I was getting some unusual questions from Erikson and now he’s not responding.”

Erikson was one of the guards that were on Fisk’s payroll. Once Fisk had been committed to this prison, he had Wesley arrange for several of the guards to be paid off to serve his interests.

“Check with Masters,” suggested Fisk.

Masters was the other guard they had paid off.

“I tried,” said Wesley, “He’s not answering either. Neither picked up when I called them.”

Suddenly a siren blared from the prison’s intercom system. The lights shut down and the dark red emergency lights came on. Fisk and Wesley could no longer make out each other’s faces in the dim red light.Wesley checked his phone again and handed it to Fisk. Fisk read the message from the warden, who was also on their payroll.

**Reports of a male escaped prisoner or intruder. 2 guards down.**

“Only two?” asked Fisk, “Just Erikson and Masters?”

“What were the chances that this guy randomly kills both the guards on our payroll and no one else?” asked Wesley.

“He’s coming for me,” said Fisk, getting up.

“I know,” said Wesley, approaching the door out of the cell.

Wesley drew a gun from the back of his pants. He clicked off the safety and stood at the ready next to the door. The alarm continued to sound. Both Wesley and Fisk had to raise their voices to speak over it.

“There is no need, James,” said Fisk, “I will face this man myself.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Fisk,” said Wesley, “Erikson and Masters were both trained special forces agents. Whoever this guy is, he must have powers.”

“I agree,” said Fisk, “which is why I would like the opportunity to oppose him myself if possible.”

“Mr. Fisk, I really-”

A loud bang sounded outside the door, loud enough to be clearly heard over the alarms. Wesley took a step back and aimed his gun at the door. Then there was another loud bang. Then the door swung open. Flashes of gunfire briefly illuminated Wesley’s face in the dark as the bangs rang throughout the cell. Then it was just the sirens again. Then one more gunshot.

Wesley’s body was on the ground. Fisk could make out blood pooling in the red light. He stared at his friend for a moment before roaring in fury and charging at the door. 

The door swung all the way open as Fisk approached. The enormous man caught the door before it hit him and pulled it back open. Fisk couldn’t see his attacker in the dim lighting. He let out a grunt as he rushed through the doorway.

Fisk heard multiple loud bangs and turned toward them. He briefly saw a furious man silhouetted in the red light. Then he seemed to be gone. Fisk felt himself getting weaker. This couldn’t be it; he wouldn’t let this be the end. He pushed through it.

Fisk wondered where the man had gone. Could he turn invisible? Teleport? Fisk looked down and saw no injuries on his body, though he could feel himself growing cold and weak. He had been hit from behind. He began to turn around, but collapsed weakly onto his massive hands and knees. He fought to crawl forward, but soon fully collapsed. The shock had worn off now. His body was in agonizing pain all over. He let out a primal scream of rage, furious at his own inability to fight.

Fisk raised his head as high as he could with what little strength he had left. He could barely make out the black boots of his assassin. He was starting to feel colder and colder as the pain got worse and his head got foggier.

“Go ahead,” growled Fisk from the floor, “Kill me. You and your superpowered ilk will take what you want, I know that. But I will die with the satisfaction of knowing that I fought with my own strength that I earned, not any special powers I got by chance!”

“Oh, you _will_ die,” growled the figure.

Fisk felt the tip of a pistol press into the top of his head.

“But I don’t have any special powers. I’m just the man who killed you.”

“What!?”

Fisk made one last attempt to look up at the man, but another loud bang sounded and his vision went completely dark. The last thing he saw was a pale, sinister skull.

***

Peter couldn’t believe it. Fisk was dead.

The story had come out that morning: **Punisher Storms Minimum Security Prison, Kills Wilson Fisk and Three Others**. Peter had felt a lurch in his stomach when he first read it. Fisk had tortured and humiliated Peter, forced him into submission while trying to get his real name out of him.*

*In [Jessica Jones & Spider-Man: Break You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579316)

Fisk had been operating under the alias of “Kingpin,” controlling almost all the organized crime in New York City. Fisk had placed a price on Spider-Man’s head. The Bratva, lead by an ex-KGB agent named Dmitri Smerdyakov, succeeded in capturing Spider-Man and delivering him to Fisk. Jessica and Mary Jane had worked together to learn where Peter was from the Bratva and Jessica ultimately arrived just in time to stop Fisk from killing him.

Fisk’s kidnapping and abuse of Spider-Man factored heavily into the crime lord’s trial and sentencing. In other words, Peter was the reason Fisk was in that prison in the first place. Because of Peter, the Punisher knew exactly who Fisk was and where to find him.

The Punisher was a man named Frank Castle. He had shown up a few years ago as an apparent serial killer who was going after members of the military. It eventually became clear that he was more than that. He was a professionally trained soldier himself. When he was finally caught, the trial made national headlines.

During the trial it came out that Frank’s family had been slaughtered by a corrupt military official to cover up their crimes abroad. Frank’s victims had all been involved in the murders. The unprecedented conspiracy had been uncovered by the law firm Nelson & Murdock, who also represented Frank in the trial. Frank was ultimately sentenced to prison, although he had already killed everyone associated with the conspiracy. Not long after that, he broke out.

Since then, his name had made headlines with less frequency. Bodies of his victims would turn up from time to time, usually followed by an obituary detailing the horrible crimes the victim had committed. He had killed everyone responsible for killing his family, so now it seemed that he was just killing people he believed deserved to die. One of those people was Fisk.

Peter hated that. He never wanted Fisk dead. He never asked for this. This wasn’t right. Jessica, Mary Jane, and Malcolm had all checked in with him about it, but there wasn’t much to say at this point. 

Peter had other matters to attend to. Now that Fisk was gone, the Bratva would soon return. After Fisk’s arrest, he refused to offer any protection to the Bratva. They had betrayed him when they told Jessica where Peter was. Without Fisk’s protection, they were forced to negotiate plea deals. Most of those deals involved flipping on Fisk. When Fisk found out about that, the Bratva were forced to flee. Now Fisk was dead and there was nothing to stop the Bratva.

Spider-Man arrived on the roof of The Black Swan. The pub was seedier than your average bar to be sure, but few knew that it used to be one of the Bratva’s strongholds in the city. Spider-Man had discovered that when investigating Fisk. He figured that if there were any Bratva left, this is where he’d find them. The bar was closed, which was odd for a weekend night. Spider-Man forced the door open and went inside.

“Oh no…” he whispered.

There were almost a dozen dead bodies. All of them were grown men, many with tattoos. Spider-Man surmised that they were affiliated with the Bratva in some way. He rushed over to one of them, finding him with several bullet holes in his chest. Spider-Man glanced around the room. They were all shot to death. The body was still warm, which meant the killer might still be nearby. Spider-Man rushed out the back door of the bar, where he saw an unmarked armored truck driving away.

 _Oh no..._ thought Spider-Man, _There’s no way… Is that him?_

Spider-Man leapt up onto the roof of the bar and watched the truck as it drove away. Keeping his distance, he jumped across the rooftops of the buildings following it. The truck was headed east, out of the city. Soon they were near a condemned shopping mall. Spider-Man watched the armored car drive into the abandoned parking garage.

Spider-Man swung down to the ground and began to make his way toward the entrance to the garage. As he drew near, he felt the shiver of his spider sense and leapt away and around the corner. He watched silently as a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black duster emerged from the garage.

 _It IS him,_ realized Spider-Man, _The Punisher!_

Spider-Man watched the Punisher walk away, unsure of what to do. He thought quickly.

 _I could stop him right here and now,_ thought Spider-Man, _but what if he’s working with others? Or has a whole operation? I have to find out._

Spider-Man had seen the man walk across the street and beneath some trees that obscured his path. Worried he would lose him, Spider-Man rushed to catch up. Luckily, his powers allowed him to move with both the swiftness and the silence of a spider. He followed the man until they were at what appeared to be a boathouse on a pond. 

Spider-Man waited a few moments and then followed the man inside. It seemed to be a normal boathouse, though a bit on the smaller side. It didn’t seem particularly maintained, but it didn’t seem abandoned either. There were no boats inside, but plenty of equipment and parts hung on the walls and sat in the corners. Some of it even looked like they had been moved recently. There was no sign of the Punisher. 

Now Spider-Man knew something was up. There must have been some sort of other room. He snuck around, being careful not to make any noise. He checked some of the equipment, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually he checked one of the lockers. It was locked. Spider-Man pulled the door open with force, snapping the lock.

 _Bingo,_ he thought.

It wasn’t a locker. It was a door to another room. Inside was a staircase leading downward. Spider-Man descended cautiously, noting that the structure was becoming more industrial the farther down he went. Several flights down, he made it down to the bottom. 

It looked like some sort of cold war era bunker. The walls were a worn steel, the lighting was sparse, and vents lined the ceiling. Spider-Man continued his way down the hall, opening a steel door with a small glass window. He cautiously walked through it, noting that it led to a hallway with an identical door at the other end. Spider-Man was about halfway down the hall when he was hit by a shock of spider-sense. He reacted and looked around, but did so just in time to see the door slam shut behind him.

 _No!_ he panicked, _Peter, you idiot!_

He rushed to the door to try and force it open, but he could already hear the sound of gas seeping into the room through the vents, trapped in the small hallway with him. He didn’t recognize the smell, but it reeked of chemicals. Within seconds his vision was blurry and his strength was leaving him. He never even reached the doors.

 _I can’t die here!_ he thought defiantly, _I can’t let this murderous psycho be the end of me! I can’t… I…_

Spider-Man collapsed, legs now too weak to stand. Lying on the ground, he heard the sound of the door on the other end of the hall opening. He slowly raised his head. His blurry vision was growing darker and darker, but he could see a pair of black combat boots approaching him. He tried to raise his head higher, but his vision went black. The last thing he saw was a pale, sinister skull. 

***

When Peter came to, he was sitting upright in a chair. His neck ached; his head had been hanging limp while he was out. He could still barely see. His mask was gone. 

“Mnnf,” he grunted, “Mnnnnf!?”

There was something in his mouth, possibly a bandana. It was held in by a thin but tightly tied rope through his mouth. He slowly lifted his head, muscles still weak. He wasn’t dead at least, but he could barely move. He soon realized the only thing keeping him from collapsing out of the chair were ropes binding his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the legs.

“Rise and shine,” said a gruff voice.

 _Not again…_ realized Peter in shock.

This was almost exactly how he had awakened after Fisk had captured him: bound to a chair, at his captor’s mercy, and hidden away where no one would find him. He couldn’t believe he had made the same stupid mistake twice. Now he would be tortured and killed for it.

Peter’s vision was slowly returning to him, allowing him to see the man who had spoken. He was a tall and broad shouldered man dressed in all black. He gave Peter a firm, unwavering stare from the other side of the small room. His nose was bulbous, almost swollen. It looked as though it had broken more than a few times before. This was a man who had seen a lot. This was him. This was Frank Castle: the Punisher.

“Nnnmf!” shouted Peter through the bandana.

“Nice of you to join us,” said the Punisher dryly.

Peter looked around the room. It was small and filled with all sorts of weapons and equipment. To his left was some sort of workbench with tools and disassembled guns. Behind the Punisher on the right was a slightly raised door, as if this room was depressed deeper into the ground. Were they still in the bunker? 

“You’re one ballsy kid,” said the Punisher, turning around to his workbench, “I’ll give you that.”

Peter watched, unable to speak, as the Punisher began to reassemble one of the guns piece by piece. He was meticulous, but fast and efficient. He had done this countless times before. It was second nature to him. This was a man who was more familiar with murder weapons than most people were with their phones.

“I don’t know how you found me,” he continued, opening the clip of the gun and examining it, “but I know why you did it. You wanted to catch me.”

This was bad. Peter made note that his gloves and web shooters were gone like his mask. That was a tactic Fisk had used too: exposing him and addressing him as someone less than Spider-Man. He tried to brace himself. He knew that soon the Punisher would go a step farther, perhaps stripping him more or torturing him. Peter tried not to think of the way it had felt when Fisk had left him shivering and naked on that cold marble floor. Peter knew this game. The Punisher would try to make him give up his identity. Peter never would, but that determination wouldn’t stop a madman like this.

“Well how’d that work out for you, huh!?!” growled the Punisher, slamming the gun down and making Peter jump in his seat. He walked over to Peter, and grabbed a fistful of Peter’s hair before jerking his head back.

“Nnf!” 

Peter tensed in his seat from the pain as he felt his heartbeat speed up. What was next? The Punisher wouldn’t shoot him, would he? Why bother capturing him and tying him up just to execute him? No, he was doing something else. Maybe he planned to shoot Peter in the foot or something. Maybe he just wanted to scare him. If that was the case, it was working.

“I’ll make this real simple for you, wall-crawler,” continued the Punisher, lowering his voice and leaning in close to Peter, “I need to know who you are, how you found me, and who else knows. Is that clear?”

Peter looked away. He wouldn’t comply. He knew these sorts of interrogation tactics. The Punisher wanted to make it seem like Peter had a way out of this, like if he went along with whatever he wanted everything would be okay. Peter knew better. Peter knew that someone like this would never let him go.

“ _Is that clear!?_ ” demanded Frank, pulling back harder on Peter’s hair and grabbing Peter's jaw.

Peter glared defiantly at the Punisher, determined not to show weakness or pain. The stern, angry man stared back as he squeezed Peter’s jaw. It was a strong grip. If he wasn’t a superhuman, he was at least as strong as any normal person Peter had met. Even if Peter had been at his full strength, taking on this monster wouldn’t be easy. Frustrated, the Punisher let out a grunt and let go, pushing Peter’s head painfully to the side as he did so.

The Punisher walked back over to the workbench. He took the gun and aggressively placed it into the nearby rack of weapons. The arsenal was downright terrifying. Peter didn’t know a lot about guns, but he knew military grade equipment when he saw it. This man wasn’t just a vigilante or even a serial killer; he was a one-man army.

The Punisher continued his work at the workbench. He looked at various other things he had there, like combat knives and even a grenade. He began to disassemble a sniper rifle next, taking the time to clean the scope and barrel. When he was finally done with that, he grabbed what looked to be a taser. The Punisher clicked the switch and a loud electric buzzing came out of it.

 _No!_ thought Peter in terror, _Anything but that!!_

Peter had been tased before, by both Fisk and Black Cat. When Black Cat did it, she left him in a pitiful mess convulsing and peeing himself on the floor.* Then Fisk had used a cattle prod to torture and attempt to kill Peter. Fisk had prodded Peter over and over again, causing him immeasurable amounts of pain until Peter was certain he would die a disgraced failure.

*In [Jessica Jones & Spider-Man: Crossed Your Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910803)

The sound of the buzzing did something to him. What sort of trick was this? The memories came back quickly. Peter couldn’t get the image of Fisk out of his head. He realized he was trembling. He couldn’t tell if his heart was pounding or if it was even beating at all. It felt like his chest was burning from the inside. Where was he? He couldn’t be back in Fisk’s penthouse. He couldn’t be there. Not again. Then Peter heard the buzzing again. No! He couldn’t live through that again!

“Whoa, kid! Kid!”

Suddenly, he felt a squeeze on his arm. Someone was talking. Who was he talking to? Whoever it was sounded concerned. Someone was in trouble. Peter could hear their frantic, muffled cry among the panicked breaths. He had to help them! He had to do something!

Suddenly cold air flooded Peter’s mouth as the pressure around his head loosened. He heard the crying get louder, like a whimper among frantic breaths of terror. Whoever it was needed help. They were scared. Peter had to help them. He had to-

“Kid, look at me!” came the voice again.

Peter felt firm, but not aggressive, hands grip his shoulders. Where was he? He was tied to a chair. He was in the Punisher’s base. He had followed him there. Now the Punisher had his hands on Peter’s shoulders for some reason. He was staring right at Peter! Peter frantically turned his head away.

“No!” someone shouted, “Stop! I can’t! I can’t tell you! Please!”

Who was that? Who was shouting that?

“Kid, kid, kid!” said the Punisher, “Hey, it’s okay!”

Finally, their eyes met. Peter had stopped avoiding it. The man staring at him was the Punisher, but he didn’t have the same look he had before. There was… concern in his eyes? That seemed wrong. Maybe Peter was reading him incorrectly. The Punisher seemed to be trying to get a good look at Peter’s face.

That’s when Peter realized the bandana had been taken out of his mouth. He felt the warm stickiness under either of his eyes. Peter had been crying, sobbing even. It was him. _He_ was the one he had heard screaming. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? What had the Punisher done?

“You’re okay, kid,” assured the Punisher, “You’re okay, I haven’t touched you. I’m not… I’m not gonna hurt you, kid.”

This time Peter was the one staring at the Punisher, studying his eyes. They were still trying to read Peter. After a few more seconds of eye contact, the Punisher spoke again.

“Jesus, kid. What have you been through?”

Peter looked shamefully down at his lap. He still wasn’t sure what had just happened. It was vaguely familiar. He had experienced something like it once before, back when Maria Hill had demanded the details of Fisk’s interrogation.* He felt weak. He felt like a failure. What kind of hero would break so easily over a small taser?

*In [Avengers: Part of the Team](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190941)

_He didn’t even shock me,_ realized Peter, _In fact… I think… He helped me._

The Punisher had gotten up and returned to the workbench. He opened a drawer and pulled out some cleaning supplies, making a point to grab some of the tissues from it and return to Peter. He paused for a moment, then reached for Peter’s face. Peter recoiled in fear.

“It’s alright,” he said calmly, “Just… Here, let me clean your face.”

Peter swallowed his pride and nodded. Even if this was just another trick to break him, he needed to do it. He was a mess. Snot and drool coated the lower half of his face and tears stained his cheeks. His nose was still running, dribbling into his mouth. Peter felt disgusting.

The Punisher wiped away at Peter’s lips, nose, and cheeks. Peter was relieved to be able to feel his face again. Then the Punisher lifted one of the tissues up to Peter’s nose.

“Blow,” he said.

Peter blew his nose. It helped. He could breathe through it again. He took a deep breath and coughed. His breathing had finally returned to normal too. The Punisher got up again and returned to the workbench, where he grabbed a metal canteen and brought it to Peter’s lips.

“Drink,” he said.

Peter reluctantly put his lips on the canteen. The warm water poured into his mouth. It was a relief. Peter swallowed quickly, suddenly inhaling some of it. He coughed, spraying water all over himself and Frank. Frank pulled back for a moment as Peter recoiled, awaiting the retribution.

“It’s okay, kid,” assured Frank, offering the canteen again.

Peter sighed with relief. When Fisk had given Peter water, he had punished him when it spilled. The Punisher didn’t. Maybe he really was different than Fisk. When Peter finished the canteen, the Punisher used another tissue to wipe the spilled water off Peter’s face before returning to the workbench. He looked at the taser and lifted it again, turning to Peter. Peter felt his muscles tense.

“It was this, wasn’t it?”

Peter nodded.

“I’m getting rid of it, okay?” said the Punisher slowly, “You won’t have to worry about it.”

Peter nodded again. The Punisher walked out. For several minutes, Peter was left alone with his thoughts. He didn’t know what to make of what just happened. It must have been some kind of panic attack. He couldn’t believe he had broken down so badly in front of his captor. Why had the Punisher reacted the way he did? What did he have to gain from helping Peter?

“Frank?” came an unfamiliar voice, “Frank, is everything okay? I thought I heard-”

A tired but alert looking man wandered in, wearing a loose robe over a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. He had a mess of curly brown hair and held what looked to be a cup of coffee in his hand. He froze in place when he stepped in, staring at Peter. Peter stared back, not knowing what to say. Should he ask for help? Should he beg to be let go?

The man stood in the doorway. He looked at Peter, then over his shoulder out of the room, and then back at Peter again. Then he let out a long sigh, shook his head, and walked out without another word.

_What in the world was that about?_

A minute or so later, the Punisher returned. He raised both of his hands up, making it clear that the taser wasn’t in his hand. Then he stood there quietly for a moment. Peter couldn’t think of anything to say; he was too tired. He felt like he had just run a marathon.

“I’m… Sorry, kid,” said the Punisher, “I was trying to scare you. I didn’t mean to trigger an episode.”

Had the Punisher just… apologized to him? Peter opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words. He still felt incredibly ashamed of having just broken down. How could he be so weak?

“I’ve seen my share of PTSD, kid,” said the Punisher, “I know it when I see it.”

Peter looked uncomfortably down at his lap. He was more transparent than he thought. He didn’t like that.

“What happened to you-?” began the Punisher before catching himself and turning away, “Sorry, nevermind. I don’t need to know.”

“It was Fisk,” said Peter suddenly.

The Punisher looked back, surprised.

“Fisk was the one who did that to me,” said Peter, “He… He stripped me down. He starved and tortured me. He used a… He used a cattle prod on me.”

Peter turned away in shame. He hated hearing those words come out of his mouth. It was like admitting to his own pathetic failures. Here he was, trying to save people as the Amazing Spider-Man, but he let a crime lord humiliate him so badly that he couldn’t even stand up to simple interrogation. He hated himself for it.

“Fisk?” asked the Punisher, “As in… Wilson Fisk? Kingpin?”

“Yes.”

“I killed him yesterday.”

“I know.”

The two stared at each other for a few seconds in silence. Peter didn’t have to say anything. The anger in his eyes communicated everything he was thinking.

“He needed to die, kid.”

“No one needs to die.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You had no right!”

“Don’t start with that!” snapped the Punisher, “Fisk was still running his criminal empire from prison. Did you know that?”

“I would’ve stopped him.”

“And how many people would’ve died before you did?”

Peter let out a breath in frustration. He didn’t care to entertain that thought. The Punisher sighed.

“Look, kid,” he continued, “I really didn’t want to hurt you. I still don’t. I know you’re nothing like Fisk or any of them. You even seem like a good person. But you have to understand, if you compromise my operation-”

“Then you’ll have to stop slaughtering people,” said Peter angrily.

“If I get caught, more people would get hurt than just me,” said the Punisher raising his voice but keeping an even tone, “I have to protect them.”

“You mean like that scuzzy looking guy in the robe?”

“You watch your fucking mouth, kid!” barked the Punisher, suddenly aggressive.

Peter paused. The Punisher collected himself. He seemed somewhat embarrassed. After another moment, Peter nodded.

“I do understand,” admitted Peter, “but I have to stop you. You can’t play judge, jury, and executioner. It isn’t right. I have the power to stop you. That makes it my duty to do so, no matter what the risk to me.”

“Oh, you’d rather let the legal system sort it out?” scoffed the Punisher.

“I’d rather protect people than murder them!” shouted Peter back.

The Punisher went to respond, but stopped himself. He rolled his eyes, but suppressed his urge to keep the argument going. Instead he turned to leave.

“Hey!” shouted Peter angrily, “I don’t know what your plan is, but I’m not going to stop trying to catch you!”

The Punisher stopped in place, listening to Peter talk without turning to look at him.

“You hear me!?” he continued, “You’re a threat to innocent people! All it takes is one wrong call, one missed shot, and then you’re no better than Fisk!”

The Punisher spun around, eyes filled with fury. Peter winced. He regretted those words as soon as they had come out of his mouth. He knew that this man was a long distance from Fisk. 

“That’s enough out of you, kid.”

“Wait, I…”

The Punisher pulled a worn-looking bandana out of his pocket and approached Peter, shoving it into his mouth. 

“You’re wrong on every count, kid,” said the Punisher.

Peter tensed his muscles to fight back, but he was still too weak to break free. The Punisher wrapped a rope around his mouth and began to tie it.

“I’m nothing like Fisk.”

He tightened the rope, shoving the bandana deep into Peter’s mouth.

“I don’t make wrong calls.”

He grabbed Peter’s face in his hand and forced the boy to look him in the eye.

“And I _never_ miss.”

There was a tense moment of Peter and the Punisher glaring at one another.

“Frank?” came the man’s voice from earlier, “That is you this time, right?”

The Punisher released Peter’s face, stood up straight, and turned around. The man from before entered the room. He had changed and showered from the look of it. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans now, though he still looked somewhat tired. Peter wondered if he had gotten dressed for _his_ benefit.

“Sorry, Spook,” said the Punisher, “You were asleep. I was going to tell you when you got up.”

The man looked at Peter and then back at the Punisher. He sighed again.

“I almost hate to ask,” he said slowly, “But… Did you _kidnap Spider-Man?_ ”

“He broke in.”

The man shook his head.

“Alright,” he sighed, “I’m guessing you gassed him in the front hall?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind airing it out?” he asked, “I can still smell it and I like being able to go for a walk without passing out at the front door.”

“Yeah,” sighed the Punisher, “Alright. You watch him while I’m gone, though.”

“Sure,” said the man dryly, “If he attacks me, I’ll just _code_ him into submission.”

“Ha-ha,” said the Punisher sarcastically as he walked out of the room, “I’ll be right back.”

The man looked at Peter for a while. Peter had about a million questions for him, but the bandana tied tightly into his mouth prevented him. Who was this guy? Who else was working with the Punisher? How close were they?

“So…” said the man uncomfortably, “It’s… Spider-Man, right? That’s cool.”

Peter stared back blankly.

“My name’s David,” said the man, “but most people call me Micro. Except Frank, he calls me Spook.”

There was another pause.

“It’s, uh, a sort of running joke for a while back,” said Micro, “That’s what he calls spies. Now it’s more of a nickname. I guess it just kinda stuck.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. Micro coughed uncomfortably.

“We’re roommates.”

Several more minutes of silence went by.

“So…” continued Micro, “You a Yankees fan, or…?”

“It’s clear,” said the Punisher, walking back in, “You mind watching the cameras? I don’t know if this kid was working with anyone else.”

“Sure,” nodded Micro, “You know, he isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

Micro and the Punisher both glanced at Peter, still gagged with the bandana.

“I had to shut him up,” frowned Frank indignantly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Micro, walking out, “Otherwise it might ruin this whole ‘deranged kidnapper’ thing you have going.”

The Punisher huffed. He didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. Once Micro had left though, Peter did see him smile. He caught Peter looking at him and quickly walked out of the room, leaving Peter there.

Peter sat there with his thoughts, trying to piece together everything that had happened. The Punisher was a serial killer, there was no getting around that. He had easily killed dozens of people. But somehow Peter was starting to feel less threatened by him. After all, he had cared enough to ease Peter out of that episode. Peter bit down on the bandana in his mouth with discomfort. He was still ashamed of that.

Peter wasn’t sure how much time passed before the Punisher returned. When he did, he seemed determined to continue with the interrogation.

“Alright, kid,” he said, “All cards on the table: I’m obviously not going to kill you. I don’t even want to hurt you, but I need to be sure that when you leave here you don’t interfere with-”

“Frank?” called a woman’s voice.

Peter and the Punisher both looked over, surprised. How many people lived here?

The woman entered the room, looking directly at the Punisher as she spoke. She was a slender woman with a gentle face, wearing flannel, jeans, and boots as she walked in with confidence.

“Sorry for dropping by unexpectedly,” she said, “Micro let me in. I was in the neighborhood and I had just visited that bakery you like with the beignets, so I thought I’d drop them off an-”

The woman stopped speaking as she stared at Peter in disbelief. She looked at him and then back at the Punisher. Slowly her disbelief turned to anger.

“Frank…” she said, clenching her fists.

“Karen, wait-”

“Frank!” she shouted angrily, “Did you kidnap Spider-Man!?”

“He broke in!”

“FRANK!”

“What was I supposed to do, let him go?”

“YES!”

Who was this woman? Why was she talking to the Punisher like he was her friend from college or something? Didn’t she know who this guy was? She looked so soft and gentle; there was no way she was working with the Punisher. Also, did she just say she brought him beignets?

“He’s the _friendly neighborhood_ Spider-Man, Frank!” she yelled, “He was just on the news for saving children from burning buildings AND YOU HAVE HIM TIED UP IN YOUR BASEMENT!”

“Listen, Karen-”

“You have to let him go.”

“Karen, he knows about our operation!” said the Punisher defensively, becoming angry, “If we let him go, we could all go to prison!”

“So your solution was to KIDNAP him!?”

“I told you, he broke in!”

“I heard you the first-”

Karen took a step down into the room, angrily approaching the Punisher. The next thing Peter saw was the Punisher grunting and lunging at her. Peter panicked. His fists tensed as he struggled in vain to stop him. His body still wasn’t back to full strength. Suddenly the Punisher was upon the woman; Peter was terrified of what he’d do next.

Then Karen fell. She had tripped on the step down into the room. The Punisher had lunged the moment he saw Karen trip, even before Peter knew it had happened. He wasn’t grabbing her in aggression, he was catching her. He wrapped his arms around her back and cradled her gently, slowly lifting her back to a standing position.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping away, “I’m untying him.”

“Karen!”

“Well I’m at least going to ungag him!”

The Punisher sighed in resignation as Karen walked up to Peter and untied the rope around his mouth, gently taking the bandana out of his mouth and placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter, shaking his head, “I’m still trying to picture the Punisher eating beignets.”

“See?” said the Punisher in frustration, “He’s fine.”

“I’m untying him,” she said again.

“Karen!”

“You want to try and stop me?” she demanded, almost smug.

The Punisher huffed and crossed his arms. After a few seconds of watching Karen untie Peter, he walked out of the room.

“Ma’am,” whispered Peter the second the Punisher was gone, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but that man is very dangerous! You have to-”

“It’s fine,” chuckled Karen, “I know what I’m doing.”

Was she a detective? A spy? Maybe a vigilante in her civilian clothes? This woman was befuddling to Peter. How could such a gentle, almost fragile-looking woman be so comfortable talking to the Punisher like that?

Finally, Peter was completely free. He stroked his wrists, feeling the cold air against them for the first time since he woke up. They hadn’t been tied nearly as tight as when Fisk had tied him down. He gave Karen a small smile.

“Thanks,” he said, “I’m, uh, Spider-Man.”

“I gathered,” she smiled back, “You can call me Karen. I’m sorry about Frank. He can be a bit bullheaded sometimes.”

“How do you even know him?”

“Well-”

“Hey!” shouted the Punisher.

Peter clenched his fists. He was still feeling weak, but he would die before he let the Punisher get to this woman. When the Punisher came to the doorway he was accompanied by one of the most frightening dogs Peter had ever seen. It was an enormous, muscular pit bull. It looked like it weighed well over 100 pounds. Its jaws were enormous, hanging open as it panted at the Punisher’s feet. Scars covered its white fur, especially at its neck and shoulders. It took a step toward them.

“Wait!” ordered the Punisher, holding up a hand.

The dog dutifully sat and stared up at the Punisher, awaiting his next command.

“You done?” the Punisher asked Karen.

Karen nodded.

“Go get her!” ordered the Punisher.

The dog let out a bark and charged them. Peter cursed his still weakened body; he couldn’t move fast enough to get to Karen before the dog. The dog tackled Karen, who rolled back onto the floor as the dog lunged at her face. Peter rushed over as he heard the screams of… Wait, was that laughter?

“Princess!” giggled Karen, “Oh, Princess! Good girl!”

The dog’s tail was wagging so fast that it spun like a windmill. She was excitedly licking Karen’s face, nuzzling her snout into Karen’s cheek between licks. They clearly knew each other and were overjoyed to see each other. Peter recontextualized everything he had just seen.

“...Princess?” asked Peter after a moment.

“She came with the name,” insisted the Punisher defensively.

“Guys!” came Micro’s voice, laced with concern, “You’re going to want to get in here! NOW!”

All of them rushed out, followed by Princess. The large dog spent the whole walk over trotting beside one of them in hopes of attention and pets. Peter followed the Punisher through the complex. While it was definitely some sort of bunker, it had been fashioned into a home. There was a kitchen, numerous computer stations, and even a couch and a television. They didn’t just work out of this place, they lived here.

Micro was sitting at one of the computer stations, staring intently at one of the screens while anxiously stroking his beard. The others looked at the monitor, which showed a live feed of the inside of the boathouse. The place had been torn apart. Equipment was destroyed and thrown about the room, entire walls had been broken down, and the lockers had been ripped off the wall to uncover the entrance to the bunker.

“Bratva?” asked the Punisher, drawing a pistol and pulling back the safety.

“Maybe,” said Micro, “I didn’t see who did it, but whoever it was tore through the entryway no problem. I don’t even know if our lockdown doors can stop them.”

“Then I’ll handle it myself,” said the Punisher, walking off.

“Wait!” insisted Peter, “I’m not going to let you kill anyone!”

“You know something, kid-!?”

“Frank!” whispered Karen harshly, “I think maybe just this one time we can ask questions before we shoot?”

The Punisher looked at Karen in frustration, then looked to Peter, and finally Micro. Micro shrugged.

“You can always kill them later,” he said.

“Fine,” relinquished the Punisher, “I’ll aim for the legs.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that, but his options were limited. He was still weak. How long was he going to be like this?

The Punisher gave them bulletproof vests to wear. Peter accepted, unsure of his ability to dodge bullets in this state. Then Frank donned his own vest, which bore the sinister skull design Peter had seen before. Karen pulled out a handgun of her own. Micro grabbed a gun from his desk drawer and offered to stay at the monitors and see if he could activate anything that might help them.

Peter, Karen, and the Punisher crept through the base, staying closely behind the Punisher as he held his gun at the ready. Peter didn’t like Karen being so close to danger, but leaving her alone would have only endangered her more. Plus, she seemed to know how to handle herself. Finally, they reached a corner where the Punisher gave them a signal to stop.

“They’re going to have to come around this corner,” he whispered, “Be ready.”

They stood silently, listening intensely. Then they heard footsteps. It sounded like it was only one person, but they were moving quickly and with conviction. Peter clenched his fists. Even if his powers weren’t completely back yet, he might have to be a part of this fight.

Then the intruder rounded the corner and brought her fists up to her face. The Punisher aimed his gun.

“Jessica!?” realized Peter, staring at his friend in shock.

The Punisher took the cue and immediately put up both of his hands, making sure the gun wasn’t pointed at anyone. Jessica immediately threw a right hook into the side of his head, toppling the large man to the ground and leaving him out cold. Everyone stared at him in silence for a moment.

“Holy shit,” realized Jessica, sounding scared, “Did I just punch out the Punisher?”

***

“We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have brain damage when he wakes up!” shouted Karen angrily.

“Sorry,” scoffed Jessica angrily, “but when a large man wearing a skull on his chest points a gun at me, I prefer to act first!”

Peter, Karen, and Jessica were gathered around the computers near Micro. Frank was still unconscious, lying on a nearby couch. Princess had been put away in another room. Karen and Jessica were both standing near the couch, arguing with one another. Peter and Micro just sat by the computers, awkwardly awaiting what would happen next.

“He had his hands up!” said Karen, “What, you couldn’t figure out that meant he wasn’t going to hurt you?”

“Well excuse me for not trusting the body language of the FUCKING PUNISHER!”

“He’s a hero!” insisted Karen, “He stops people before they can hurt anyone!”

“A hero!?” cried Jessica, “He kidnapped Spider-Man!”

“...he broke in,” said Karen defensively.

“You _broke in?_ ” Jessica demanded furiously, turning on her heel to face Peter.

“Wait, Jessica-” began Peter.

“No, you wait!” growled Jessica, marching up to him, “You went after the Punisher and broke into his base!? What’s wrong with you?”

“I-”

“And you kept it a secret from me,” she continued, “AGAIN.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” insisted Peter nervously, “I just sort of stumbled across him.”

“And followed him into his base!” she yelled angrily, “Peter, do you have any idea what it does to Red and me when you-”

“Peter?” realized Karen, “As in, Peter Parker? From the Daily Bugle?”

Jessica froze in place. No one spoke for a moment. Peter scowled at Jessica.

“Great!” he shouted, “Now the Punisher’s going to know my secret identity! Thanks a lot!”

“How the hell did you figure that out?” demanded Jessica, turning back to Karen.

“He’s the only journalist who’s ever gotten pictures of Spider-Man,” explained Karen, “Honestly, I kind of already suspected.”

“Why do you know about which journalists take pictures of Spider-Man?” demanded Jessica.

“No reason,” said Karen quickly.

“Nnnnnnnggh……” murmered Frank.

“Oh thank God,” sighed Karen, “He’s waking up.”

“Ugh,” groaned Frank sitting up, “What happened?”

“Jessica knocked-” began Peter.

Jessica loudly shushed Peter, a scared look on her face.

“You alright?” asked Karen, kneeling beside him.

“I think so…” he muttered, “How did I…”

Frank widened his eyes and looked up at Jessica.

“Did you hit me?”

Jessica looked horrified. Frank scared even her.

“Don’t worry about it,” dismissed Micro, “The good news is we don’t have to fight her or anything.”

“You sure about that?” asked Frank angrily.

Jessica took a frightened step back.

“We still need to decide what to do with the kid,” added Micro.

“What do you mean ‘decide?’” asked Karen, “We’re going to let him go!”

“Karen, we can’t just let him-”

“Karen!” realized Jessica loudly, “Karen Page! From the New York Bulletin!”

Karen stared back at Jessica aggressively.

“You’re the one who published every article on Frank and his victims!” continued Jessica, “That’s how you know who takes Spider-Man’s pictures! You’re a journalist too!”

Micro let out a long whistle. Karen shot him a dirty look.

“You can’t tell anyone,” said Karen quietly, “My articles have been used as evidence on countless cases. If it comes out that I’m affiliated with a vigilante, every one of those cases could be overturned. The criminals would be back on the street in no time!”

“Fine,” grinned Jessica, “Then you all have a good reason to keep Peter’s identity a secret.”

“Collateral goes both ways,” said Karen sternly. Jessica’s grin became a scowl.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Jessica had met her match. This woman was far more involved in Frank’s operation than Peter had initially thought. It made sense now that he thought about it. Frank needed to be sure of someone’s guilt before he killed them, so having a talented investigator would be necessary.

“You know what?” smiled Karen, “I think we could all use some coffee. Then we can talk about this like adults. How does everyone take it?”

“Black,” grunted Frank.

“Black,” said Jessica, staring intensely and suspiciously at Karen.

“None for me, thanks,” muttered Peter.

“Black,” said Micro, “Thanks.”

Karen went to leave but Frank stopped her with a hand motion. He was glaring at Micro for some reason. He stood up and walked over to him. Micro shifted nervously in his chair. Peter noticed him wince as he moved his arm. Now Frank was staring right down at Micro, angry.

“What’s wrong?” asked Peter.

“Spook here wouldn’t drink black coffee to save his life,” said Frank intensely.

“Relax, Frank,” smiled Micro, “I’m just trying it out, that’s all.”

“Take off your pants.”

“What!?” asked Micro, Peter, Jessica, and Karen all at once.

Frank rolled his eyes.

“He has a tattoo,” he explained, “On his upper thigh. I just want him to prove-”

Micro grabbed a gun from behind his back and pointed it at Frank. Frank went to move, but Peter moved faster. His powers were finally at full strength again. He leapt at Micro and grabbed his wrist before he could fire the gun, redirecting it so the bullet fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Peter continued the motion and threw Micro over his head and slammed him into the ground by the arm. He heard the snapping of bones and a vaguely familiar scream as he did. Everyone stared at Micro as he lay on the ground, screaming in pain and clutching his shoulder.

“Wait a minute,” said Jessica, walking up to him.

“No, please!” begged the man who claimed to be Micro.

Jessica grabbed his face in one hand and his hair in the other, pulling the two apart. The man continued to scream as the hair peeled off his head, taking the thick skin-colored adhesive with it. A chunk of the face peeled away to reveal another one underneath. It wasn’t Micro. It was Dmitri Smerdyakov, the man who had captured Peter and delivered him to Fisk. He was also known as the Chameleon.

“I knew it!” exclaimed Jessica, “How’s the arm, Dmitri?”

“ _Сука!_ ” cursed Dmitri, “You’ll regret this…”

Dmitri no longer sounded like Micro; his voice now had that hint of a Russian accent that Peter remembered. Jessica had ripped half of the prosthetics off his face, so he now looked like a horrific mix of Micro and himself. 

Peter clenched his fists. The last he had seen of this man, he was toasting to Peter’s capture with Fisk. That was just before the torture had begun. Hearing Dmitri’s voice again brought that memory viscerally back into Peter’s mind.

“What the hell did you do with him!?” demanded Frank, aiming his gun directly at the man’s head.

“Frank-” began Peter.

“SHUT UP!” roared Frank, then turned his attention back to Dmitri, “I said: what the hell did you do with him?”

Peter didn’t say a word this time. Even with his powers back, there was something about Frank that really, truly scared him. Dmitri grunted for a second. Peter could tell he was scared too. Frank took the safety off the gun and pointed it at Dmitri’s kneecaps.

“He’s alive,” whispered Dmitri spitefully, “as collateral. The moment my men figure out that you’re coming after us, he’s dead!”

“What are you doing here?” demanded Frank.

“What do you think?” spat Dmitri, “We’re here to kill you. You’ve certainly killed enough of our comrades.”

“How did you find this place?”

“We followed her here,” said Dmitri, nodding to Jessica.

“Shit,” sighed Jessica, turning to Frank, “Sorry, I was in such a rush that I didn’t-”

“Wait a minute,” said Karen, “the only way out is through this room. If they got here after Jessica, we would have seen them leaving. They must still be here.”

“Go ahead,” dared Dmitri, “Go after them. The moment my men see you coming, they won’t hesitate to kill that ragged little-”

 **BANG**

Karen, Jessica, and Peter all flinched. Frank had shot Dmitri in the face, splattering blood and brains on the floor.

“FRANK!” screamed Peter.

“He told me everything I needed to know,” said Frank plainly.

Peter moved too quickly for Frank to react. He grabbed Frank’s arm and ripped the gun away from it, pushing Frank away and onto his back. Frank immediately got back up and ran at Peter, but Peter gave him a light punch in the chest and sent him falling back down again, knocking the wind out of him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” screamed Frank.

“Stopping a murderer,” said Peter.

“That man was a trained assassin for the Bratva!” yelled Frank, “The world is a better and safer place with him dead!”

“You had no right!” screamed Peter, “He wasn’t yours to just execute!”

“Guys,” said Karen, “Let’s focus on finding Micro. Peter, we might need your help.”

Peter looked to Jessica, then back to Frank, and finally to Karen. They all seemed to want this too. Peter sighed, unloaded the clip from the gun, and tossed it back to Frank.

“One condition,” he said, “No more killing. The second you do, I’m taking you out. Understand?”

Frank grimaced and let out what sounded like a low growl.

“Frank…” said Karen quietly.

“Fine,” he conceded, “Just help me save him.”

Peter saw an unfamiliar softness in Frank’s eyes. Part of him looked scared. 

The Punisher. Scared. 

For the first time that day, Peter found himself trusting Frank.

“Deal,” said Peter, “Now I’m going to need my mask and web shooters back.”

***

“I found him,” whispered Frank over the radio, “He’s in the storage room, along with six Bratva enforcers.”

Spider-Man stopped where he was and listened closely. He had been sneaking down one of the many hallways in the bunker. He had an earpiece on under his mask, listening in to the others as they communicated over their walkie talkies.

“Are they armed?” asked Karen.

“Yes.”

“Then wait for backup, Frank,” said Karen, “You’re going to need Spider-Man’s reflexes if you want to make sure Micro is safe.”

“...understood,” said Frank, audibly unhappy about having to wait.

“I’ll be there soon too,” added Jessica.

Spider-Man knew how to get to the storage room. Before they had split up, he had memorized the layout of the bunker. The storage room was on the far north end of it. He soon came across Jessica and Frank, the latter of whom had his gun ready as he stood just outside the door. Spider-Man rushed over and peered into the room.

While most of the bunker was cramped and dressed up to look like a home, the storage room was the exception. The enormous room had no temperature control or traditional furnishing, just rack after rack of all sorts of supplies. Spider-Man narrowed his eyes on the group of people gathered between two of the racks. They were all carrying small machine guns. In the middle of them was a metal chair. Tied to that middle chair was Micro.

Micro did not look to be in a good way. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back and his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair. His shirt and jeans had been taken away for Dmitri to use, leaving him in his boxers and white sleeveless undershirt. His feet were bare and Spider-Man could see that his own socks had been used to gag him, held in by a rope through the mouth. There was fresh blood dripping from his hair.

“Guys,” whispered Spider-Man, “Wait for my signal, okay? I’ll only have a split second to save him and I need to time it just right.”

Frank nodded. Spider-Man continued to watch the armed men. They seemed to be having fun with their assignment. One would occasionally chuckle and smack Micro upside the head or kick him in the shin. Every time Micro would bite down on the sock in his mouth to deal with the pain. Spider-Man saw Frank’s nostrils flare with rage every time, but he had a nervous look in his eyes. He was still scared. He was worried about Micro.

“Punisher’s little bitch,” laughed one, prodding Micro’s head with his gun.

“Who do you think we’ll kill first?” asked another.

“Boss is probably killing Punisher now,” chuckled a third.

Micro looked away. They were speaking english for his benefit. They were toying with him.

“Maybe Boss will keep Punisher alive,” said one, “Then we can kill this one in front of him! Nice and slow.”

“I like that idea!” declared the one nearest Micro, “What do you think, Punisher’s bitch? You want we kill you in front of Punisher?”

Micro stared into space intensely, trying not to listen to what they were saying.

“I’m talking to you!” he yelled, striking Micro hard in the back of the head with his gun. 

Even from across the room, Spider-Man could hear Micro's muffled cry of pain. When Micro looked up from the blow, tears were in his eyes. Spider-Man could here Frank’s breathing get more intense.

“Look!” laughed one, “Punisher’s bitch is crying!”

All of the Russians laughed at that. They momentarily rested from their stances as their muscles relaxed. That was the opportunity Spider-Man needed.

“Now!”

Spider-Man sprinted around the corner and towards the group. They all started screaming in Russian as they pointed their weapons. Most pointed them right at Spider-Man, but one pointed his gun straight at Micro.

“NO!!” roared Frank as he charged in behind Spider-Man.

Spider-Man had already fired his web. He gracefully spun in the air to dodge the other machine gun bullets as the web strand latched onto the machine gun pointed at Micro. Spider-Man whipped that gun out of his hand and into the head of the man next to him, causing both to stumble and lose their weapons.

Frank began firing. The gun, per Spider-Man’s request, was loaded with plastic bullets. Frank didn’t like the merciful nature of his weapon, but it was part of Spider-Man’s condition to help. Rather than firing uncontrollably, Frank made each shot count. He fired shots at the four nearest Russians, hitting one in the temple, one in the neck, one in the shoulder, and one in the gut.

All of the Russians were now either disarmed or stunned by pain. Spider-Man took his chance and rushed the whole group, punching each of them in rapid succession before webbing them all to the floor face down. 

Micro’s tense shoulders relaxed. Frank let out a sigh of relief. They had done it. They had won. Jessica walked up to Spider-Man as Frank rushed to Micro’s side. He drew a combat knife from his vest and cut the rope holding the sock in his mouth.

“See?” said Spider-Man proudly, “No one had to die.”

“Frank!” gasped Micro once he could annunciate again, “Is everyone-?”

“Safe,” assured Frank, gently holding Micro’s head in his hands, “How about you? Did they hurt you?”

“Some,” said Micro.

Frank sighed with relief and set about cutting off the remaining restraints, eventually lifting Micro to his feet and supporting him against his body. It was an oddly tender gesture. The Russians continued to curse them, straining to free their hands from the restraints. Frank gently examined the nasty red masks on Micro's wrists. Micro winced in pain. Suddenly, the soft look in Frank's eyes shifted into something wild and hard. Frank looked at Micro massaging his wrists and then at the Russians. Then he looked at Spider-Man. Both he and Jessica were right next to the exit. Frank bent down and picked up one of the Russians’ pistols.

“Jessica,” said Frank, “Get the kid out of here.”

Spider-Man saw Frank cradle Micro’s head in close with one arm as he aimed the pistol with the other.

“Wait, Frank-” began Spider-Man, but Jessica had already grabbed him.

Spider-Man’s spider sense didn’t activate for Jessica; his spider sense didn't recognize her as a threat. Spider-Man was still faster and stronger than her, so after she had shoved him out of the room he immediately went to rush her, but he heard all six shots before he even made it to the door. Spider-Man looked into the room and saw the dead bodies.

Peter pulled his mask off and returned to the hallway, glaring at Jessica. He couldn’t believe she had done that. All those lives gone; just because Frank had asked? Jessica had a deeply guilt-ridden look on her face.

“I’m sorry Peter,” she said solemnly, “Frank and I talked while you were getting your mask and web shooters. He needed to do this. Otherwise the Bratva would come after us. All of us.”

“He’s a murderer,” said Peter quietly, “and you helped him do it.”

“Hey!” she shouted angrily, “You don’t get to be mad about this! Not after that suicidal stunt you pulled by sneaking in here! And you know something else? Frank was right to kill Fisk. Sending him to prison didn’t change anything and you know it.”

“It set him back,” said Peter, “It slowed him down!"

“Yeah, well I’m sure everyone who died because of it will take solace in that,” she said back.

“I’m bringing him in,” said Peter, stepping for the doorway.

“I don’t think so,” said Jessica angrily, cutting him off, “As far as I’m concerned, he just saved our lives.”

“She's right, kid,” said Micro, who had walked up behind Jessica, “Bratva doesn’t mess around. The only reason they haven’t gone after you all this time is because they were afraid of Fisk.”

“Then maybe that psycho shouldn’t have killed him!” shouted Peter back.

“Hey!” barked Micro, suddenly aggressive, “Watch your mouth you little-”

“It’s okay, Spook,” said Frank, walking in behind him, “Let me talk to the kid.”

“Talk to him?” asked Micro in disbelief.

“Is everyone okay?” asked Karen, rushing up to them.

“Everyone’s fine,” said Jessica.

“Not everyone,” whispered Peter, looking at the dead bodies.

“Jesus…” whispered Karen.

“If everyone could give us some space,” said Frank, “I think the kid and I would benefit from a chat.”

“‘Chat’ isn’t code for murder, is it?” Jessica asked Karen.

“You all do whatever you want,” dismissed Micro, before looking down at himself, “I should probably go get dressed. Frank, are you good to…?”

Micro gestured at the bodies.

“Yeah,” nodded Frank, “I’ll take care of that first.”

“Take care of the bodies?” asked Jessica concernedly.

“What?” scoffed Micro as he walked off, “Would you rather we let them rot in our home?”

Jessica frowned at Peter. He was still mad at her. Peter didn’t know what sort of chat Frank had in mind, but right now he couldn’t imagine anything that would let him forgive so much bloodshed. He would hear him out though. Worst case scenario, he was faster and stronger than Frank and could subdue him if necessary.

“Hey, uh…” said Karen, tapping Jessica’s shoulder, “Maybe we give these two some space?”

“Yeah,” conceded Jessica, “Yeah, okay.”

Jessica and Karen walked away, leaving Peter and Frank staring at one another intently. Frank turned his attention to the bodies, going up to one and slumping it over his shoulder. Blood dripped down all across his vest and the floor. Peter nearly wretched.

“I should take care of this first,” said Frank, “So either give me a hand, or go get yourself cleaned up.”

***

Jessica slumped into the kitchen chair and sighed. Karen did the same in the chair beside her a moment later. Jessica looked at the tired woman. She respected her. She was smart and far more capable of handling herself than one would guess based on her appearance. Karen caught Jessica looking at her and looked back.

“What?”

“Nothing,” sighed Jessica, pulling a flask out of her jacket and taking a swig, “It’s just been a long day.”

Karen watched Jessica drink and nodded. A moment later Jessica looked at the flask. Then she offered it to Karen. Karen took it and took a drink herself.

“So,” said Jessica, “How did a journalist get involved with the Punisher?”

“I used to work with Nelson & Murdock,” said Karen, handing the flask back, “back when they took his case. I don’t know how much you know about-”

“I’ve done my research,” said Jessica.

“Yeah,” continued Karen, “Anyway, getting to know him during that… He doesn’t kill indiscriminately, you know. He only goes after people like Fisk or-”

“You don’t have to convince me,” said Jessica, “I’m honestly already sold.”

The two were passing the flask back and forth now. Soon they ran out. Jessica frowned.

“Don’t worry,” smiled Karen, “Frank usually has some whiskey lying around. One second…”

She returned with the bottle minutes later. The two began to take turns taking swigs of the bottle. Jessica was starting to respect this woman more and more.

“So,” said Karen as she slid the bottle back to Jessica, “How did a superhuman private investigator get involved with Spider-Man?”

“Ha!” chortled Jessica, “I actually met him as Peter Parker first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” chuckled Jessica to himself, “When I met him he was being given the wedgie of a lifetime.*”

*Back in [Jessica Jones and Spider-Man: Real Heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905046)

“A… a wedgie?” asked Karen, half smiling and half in disbelief, “Like the schoolyard prank?”

“Yup. They hung him by his underwear and everything.”

“Oh no!” gasped Karen, unable to hide her slight smile, “That’s so mean! Aw, poor Peter...”

“You have no idea.”

“And so, what, you helped him?”

“Something like that.”

“Did he not have his powers yet or something?” asked Karen.

“No,” said Jessica, “He’s just that kind of guy. He would never use his powers for personal gain and I guess that includes not punching out bullies. Even when they deserve it. He feels like his powers give him a sort of responsibility.”

“Actually,” thought Karen aloud, “that’s not too different from Frank.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” continued Karen, “Same with Daredevil.”

“You know Daredevil too?” asked Jessica.

“Yeah,” said Karen, shifting in her seat, “I’ve… worked with him.”

Jessica nodded. Then she realized something. Nelson & Murdock was based out of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil had been the one to apprehend Frank. If Karen had worked with all of them…

“Wait a minute,” realized Jessica, “Is that Murdock guy Daredevil?”

Karen’s eyes widened as she inhaled her swig of whiskey, coughing and sputtering it out.

***

“You proud of yourself?” asked Peter as Frank loaded the last body into the crate.

“I don’t do this for pride,” said Frank.

The two were still in the storage room. Frank had spent almost an hour moving each body and cleaning up the mess their deaths had made. Peter had used the time to generally clean himself up. Frank even let him use the shower. He had changed into a set of Micro’s clothes, also offered by Frank. They were a little big on him, but still fit him better than anything Frank would have owned.

“Do you really think you’ll _never_ kill the wrong person?” asked Peter.

“If I do,” said Frank, “That’ll be the day I turn myself in. You can bet on that.”

“That’ll be too late.”

“You know what else is too late, kid?” he demanded, slamming the crate shut and turning angrily to Peter, “Fisk’s death. I only regret that I didn’t kill him sooner.”

“You’re insane.”

“Am I?” asked Frank, “You know exactly what he’s capable of. You really think the world was better off with that monster alive?”

“I think that it wasn’t your call.”

“You know,” mused Frank, “It’s funny. Back in the marines when I was overseas, I killed 37 people. I remember each and every one. No one complained about those deaths. You know something else? They were all completely innocent.”

“You…” said Peter slowly, “They made you do that?”

Frank nodded.

“You were right about one thing, kid,” he said, “I am a murderer. I was trained by my own damn country to be one. They’re the ones who turned me into this and gave me the capacity to… do what I do. When I learned that we were killing innocent people, they sent my own unit after my family.”

“Frank…”

“I figure as long as I can do this and prevent another massacre like that, I have to. I was already a killer, kid. Now I’m just killing the right people.” 

“There’s no such thing as killing the right people,” said Peter.

“I beg to differ,” said Frank curtly, “Let me ask you something. What do you think was going to be Fisk’s next step?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does! Don’t you realize he would have gone after you again?”

“I don’t care!!” shouted Peter, “I never asked you to kill him! And I never asked you to kill the Bratva either!”

“Kid-”

“But now they’re all dead!” continued Peter, “They’re dead and we can’t take that back and I don’t need you protecting me! I DON’T!”

Peter caught himself. He was hyperventilating. He took a deep breath and composed himself. He looked up at Frank, embarrassed at his outburst. Frank was unamused.

“What do you think would have happened when Fisk found out who you are?” asked Frank.

“He wouldn’t.”

“No?” scoffed Frank, “How long did it take Karen to find out?”

“That’s-”

“He was never going to stop, kid,” said Frank, “He wasn’t going to stop until you were dead or worse. He might have tortured you again.”

“He wouldn’t get anything out of me.”

“I know,” admitted Frank, softening his tone, “You’re a hell of a fighter, kid. You protect the ones close to you like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks,” offered Peter dryly, uncomfortable to hear that coming from the Punisher.

“But do you really want to die like that?”

“I took that risk when I put on this suit.”

“You did, sure,” said Frank, “but what about the people close to you? What about Jessica?”

“Shut up.”

“How long do you think it would be until Fisk got his hands on her and-”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

Peter’s body acted without him noticing. He shoved Frank with all his might, sending the large man flying across the room and into one of the storage racks, knocking it over and crashing to the floor with it. Peter realized he was short on breath. His throat was dry. His face was hot. He was crying. He fell to his knees, devastated by even the briefest of moments he had spent thinking about Fisk hurting Jessica the way he had hurt him.

Frank slowly got up and dusted himself off. His movement was jerky. That shove had hurt him pretty badly. He began to limp out of the room, turning back to the sobbing Peter the moment before he left.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he said, “Take your time. I’ll be ready to talk whenever you are.”

Peter fell into a sitting position, bringing his knees in and hugging them in close to him. He buried his face in his legs and let out a scream.

***

Almost an hour had gone by. Frank was sitting on the couch, watching television. Princess lay in his lap, sleeping soundly. He absent-mindedly scratched her ears as he watched. They only had so much media to watch in their bunker, since it was off the grid. Micro just kept video files of various movies and TV shows.

This show was one Frank liked. It was an older one, from the 70s. It was a procedural cop show, but not one with high stakes. The characters smoked and traded banter with whatever celebrity was guest starring in that episode. It was a simple show. Right and wrong was always clear as day. Frank liked that. It reminded him of when things were that simple for him too.

“Hey,” said Peter quietly from behind.

Frank turned off the TV and turned to face Peter. The tear tracks on Peter’s face were clearly defined, his eyes were bright red, and his whole body looked like it had been completely drained of energy. Despite all of that, he seemed oddly calm. He slowly walked over and joined Frank on the couch.

“How are you doing?” asked Frank.

It was almost a full minute before Peter responded.

“You’re right,” he said.

Frank didn’t respond.

“You said that if you had the power to stop another massacre like your family’s…” started Peter, then he shook his head, “I know what you’re talking about. I feel the same way.”

Frank still didn’t respond. He wanted to hear everything Peter had to say before he responded. Frank knew that Peter had just processed a lot. He had gone through the same thing years ago.

“Maybe...” said Peter hesitantly, “...maybe Fisk really did need to die.”

Frank nodded.

“That doesn’t mean I agree with what you do,” continued Peter, “It’s just… If anything happened to Jessica or MJ because I didn’t do what needed to be done…”

“MJ?”

“Sorry,” said Peter, “Don’t worry about it. I guess my point is… I don’t have it in me to do it. Does that make me… weak?”

“No,” said Frank right away, “You’re one of the toughest sons of bitches I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Peter sighed to himself. Even knowing how Fisk had demeaned him, even after seeing him break down crying twice, the Punisher thought Peter was tough. Peter couldn’t help but feel a little proud of that.

“Then why can’t I bring myself to-?”

“Stop,” said Frank, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you not wanting to kill people.”

“Even Fisk?”

“Even Fisk.”

“But isn’t that my responsibility?” asked Peter, “It’s like you said, if I had the power to stop Fisk from killing all those people, shouldn’t I have done it? Even if it meant killing him?”

“I’ve been thinking, kid,” said Frank, “Even though it might seem like it, we’re not doing the same job.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t just stop bad guys,” he said, “You save people. You make them laugh. You give them hope. You protect them in your own way, in a way I never could. I just want you to respect that I protect people in _my_ own way.”

Peter considered that. There was some more silence.

“I never thanked you,” said Peter, “for helping me when I was having that... episode earlier.”

“In your defense,” smirked Frank, “I did tie you up and gag you first.”

“You did do that.”

Frank let out a breathy chuckle. Peter smiled. He had made the Punisher laugh.

“I still can’t get behind what you do, Frank,” said Peter, “But for now… For now I think I can trust you. I mean, it’s not like you’re killing people willy nilly.”

“Not yet anyway.”

Peter’s eyes widened.

“I’m kidding!”

“I think maybe you should leave the jokes to me.”

“Maybe.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

“You’re welcome, kid.”

Peter reached over and scratched Princess’s ears. She didn’t open her eyes, but her enormous tail began to slowly thump up and down on the couch.

“I do have two more questions,” said Peter.

“What’s that?”

“How did you know that Micro had a tattoo on his butt?”

“It’s not his butt,” said Frank defensively, “It’s his upper thigh. And we’ve been working together for a long time. You just… You see things, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope!”

“Good. What was your other question?”

“...Princess didn’t really come with the name, did she?”

Frank’s face turned red. He could tell from Peter’s smile that he had given away the answer.

“If you tell anybody…” growled Frank quietly.

“I know, I know,” grinned Peter, “My lips are sealed.”

**Author's Note:**

> The episode of The Punisher no one at Netflix was brave enough to do ;)
> 
> This one was also a present, so less wedgies and more bondage


End file.
